Unbreakable
by scorpiaux
Summary: Kataang, OneShot. “I never thought he would die,” she muttered blankly to the girl beside her. “He’s gone, Toph. He’s gone forever.” Katara learns a lesson in the true meaning of being. Dark, but deep. Character death.


**Unbreakable **

**Summary:** Kataang, OneShot. "I never thought he would die," she muttered blankly to the girl beside her. "He's gone, Toph. He's gone forever." Katara learns a lesson in the true meaning of being. Dark, but deep.

**Author's Note: **The tone of this OneShot is a little dark but I think I was able to end it on a happy note. Right now I'm planning another OneShot as well as a series—"No Sweat" and "Seven Languages: Seven ways to say I love you." Both are obviously Kataang and should be out by the end of September.

Enjoy, as always, and be _sure_ to send me your input.

-_scorpiored112_

* * *

He had three children and a wife and all the power in the universe. And when he died almost everyone came to his funeral. It had happened so quickly and so unexpectedly. Ironically, almost. But even Aang had expected—before his death—that he would last forever.

Days afterward, though she knew she wasn't an expert in healing others, Toph came to see the broken woman formally known as the Avatar's wife. She came alone and noticed immediately that Katara was strewn upon a chair, posture broken, child in her arms. Her head remained in one position even after Toph came in, even when the child began crying.

"Maybe I'll go put him in his bed," the earthbender offered without saying hello. "You can stay here."

But Katara stood up and pushed past her and threw the boy in his crib without further discussion. Toph sat down in a nearby chair and placed her elbows on the table.

She asked upon Katara's arrival, "Where are the others?"

"Asleep."

"This whole time?"

"Yes."

"But…it's not even dusk yet."

Katara didn't answer. Toph felt her pick up a glass of an unknown liquid and sip from it, not offering any, not answering. Three children, the youngest only a few months old, the oldest still in the single digits.

"I hope you're doing okay," Toph stated awkwardly, wiping her hands on her lap. "I just came by to check on you. To see if you needed anything."

Katara sighed audibly in an annoyed manner. Toph had only been here twice after the Avatar's death, but she was already starting to feel unwelcome.

"I'm sick of you all trying to help, actually," the widow admitted, her fingers shaking. She could never keep anything to herself, particularly the things that bothered her the most. "I'm sick of everything. I don't need any of you to tell me that."

Her companion offered quietly, "I just want you to feel better."

Katara snorted and turned her face. "Please—it hardly concerns you."

Only after she said this did Toph realize that it was such a vulgar thing to say. She felt sorry for Katara but she also knew that she wasn't handling Aang's death responsibly. She was treating it as if it were something that occurred on a regular basis. And though Katara had cried—everyone had seen it—now it looked as though she could no longer care less.

"For God's sake, Toph," Katara started suddenly, touching her forehead. "For God's sake."

"I'm sorry," Toph whispered, because she felt it was the right thing to say, although she wasn't sure why she was saying it. "I'm sorry I came by."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I just realized," the healer began, "that this teapot is cracked. Right here. You can't see it. You can't see anything. Next to that little square design. One day the spout will fall off and hurt someone."

"Katara—"

"I'll buy another teapot and that will break too. They always break next to the spout. It's just how it is. Aang bought this one for me," she recalled dreamily. "He said the color matched my eyes. But you can't see it. You can't see anything."

"I don't have to," Toph spat after the soliloquy, crossing her arms. She wanted to add more but couldn't. Their situation was stained and dark and mysterious and—though she hated to admit it—she was honestly scared of Katara now. Scared of what might happen next.

A cry voiced itself from the bedrooms, but Katara didn't look up, and didn't seem to notice. Toph felt her play with her hair and clear her throat.

"I think I'm going mad," Katara admitted, again rather suddenly. "Ha! You know, I just heard a child scream. I always hear it. Isn't that funny?"  
"But, Katara—you did—"

"It's so strange. I don't even _have_ any children! Isn't that so strange, Toph? Isn't it so funny? Ha!"

Her posture was askew again, leaning over the table. Toph imagined her face to be contorted and creased and, perhaps, flushed. She imaged her hair to be messy but beautiful, the way it always was. The way it felt when she had begged Toph to brush the back once, when Aang was away on world saving business.

"You _do_ have kids, Katara," the earthbender reminded, reaching for the widow's hand. But when she felt the contact, Katara pulled away and grunted in a frightened style, swaying just a little, making an undecipherable noise.

"I told them, don't go to the Earth Kingdom—the Earth Kingdom is full of whores and prostitution and assassins. And they went anyway because Aang said he was brave." Katara pulled at her face and laughed bitterly. "Three eggs and two cups flour. Don't over bake it. Aang likes it soft. Soft cake is best. It's good for you. It's warm, he said once to the neighbors. It's warm."

"Katara—" She wanted the horrific speeches to stop. They were frightening her and made every little aspect about their chat seem out of place and gloomy. Dreadful, and almost senseless. But mostly, frightening.

And the young widow's body, slim and sensual and perfectly formed, was shaking, and her voice was cracking, and every breath she drew was raspy, though intact and sure.

The earthbender felt her stomach flip beneath her skin. Toph felt inexplicably sick, and then the words began pouring out of the widow's mouth like vomit—some vile formation of phrases that hardly made any sense. And Toph could suddenly feel it—the craziness, the uncertainty. The pureness of Katara's voice and how she wanted to stop and comprehend, but couldn't.

"Darling, don't touch the stove. It's hot," Katara continued, looking at the ceiling. Toph felt the waterbender's back muscles twitch. "Aang—Aang. It's such a lovely name. Do you mind if I call him my lover, darling? Yes, the Southern Tribe. Gran Gran? No, certainly not. Waterbending barely runs in the family. Where do you get it, Katara? It's not your mother or your father or your grandmother so honestly—where? There it is! Appa, come here. Don't eat that yes eat this. Sour? I love him. I love a boy. He is twelve and he has a stupid smile. I saw him spying on me. You remember but you don't and here it is and did you bake it soft, like I said? He often spied on me and that is why—is it why? Because I loved him?"

"Katara, please," Toph murmured, taking her hand by force. "Please stop, Katara. You don't know what you're saying."

"I knew he was spying on me and jumped in the river naked anyway, Toph. Did you know that and I bet he did but I felt I did know, when I didn't. I have a good mind to fire you, young lady! But Aang straightened him out—just like that! Ha! He is so excellent. She remembered asking me, 'how is it to sleep with the Avatar? I mean, how does it feel?' And do you know what I said, my dearest one? Because I certainly don't. It's always about him, anyway. It's just a big day dream session and one and two and there it goes, come back though, will you? Bring him with you. He's a pleasurable sensation, they call him 'Avatar' and I call him 'Aang' and now they'll be calling him worm food and oh God! The irony of it all? Maybe—ah, yes!" She grasped the broken teapot and held it in both hands, concentrating on it. "It's not a crack at all, Toph. It's a hair. I think it's one of mine." She blew on it and rubbed the teapot's surface, holding it to the light.

And then sighed stupidly, "No. It wasn't a hair. It was a crack. Like I said before."

The situation was horrific. Toph could feel Katara's fingers shaking. This was wrong. Aang had been dead for a good five days now, and though Toph didn't expect her to get over it too quickly, she did expect some improvement. But Katara seemed worse than before. The speeches and the shaking and the back twitches were all new additions to her "coping," if it could even be called that.

"You need to relax," Toph admitted, wiping perspiration from her head. "You need to calm down, Katara. Come into the living room with me, will you? Come on."

Katara followed her because Toph still had her hand and because she had fallen silent—reflecting. Her whole being stank of distance and hate. Toph could feel it though the ceramic flooring. Through the couch they sat on and through Katara's trembling hand. Through the jump she executed when she heard the cry out of the children's room again.

"Hallucinations!" the waterbender shrieked. "I'm dreaming—for God's sake—I'm dreaming! I don't have any children! I don't!"

"Katara—"

She turned ferociously to Toph and spat, "Don't call me that!" She covered her ears and shook her head, burying her face into her lap. "Only Aang calls me Katara—only Aang, do you hear me? He's coming back—he's at the door! He's coming back!" But the viciousness was temporary. Katara broke down and began sobbing uncontrollably. For a long time she cried and wiped her tears and howled into the empty room, silencing the cries they heard from inside. Toph felt a large dampness over her heart and, for that reason, the only comfort she offered was a soft, unsure pat on the back. But she didn't refuse the healer when she slung her arms around her shoulders and cried into the crook of her neck.

The earthbender's existence there was useless and wasteful. That is what she felt and she regretting coming.

It was becoming too clear. Katara was in bad shape and Sokka needed to talk to her again. But, Toph thought, he had been here all day. Katara hadn't displayed this show towards him. All she had done was converse with her older brother on the welfare of the children—on what they were to do with the three young benders who were still confused and lost in the mess of losing the most influential person in the world.

Katara's sobbing didn't ease up and Toph felt uncomfortable and terribly sympathetic. All she could think to say was, "You'll be okay," and "It'll get better." But those were bitter lies and Toph hated the way they sounded.

The waterbender sat erect and wiped her face again, dismally realizing that most of her tears had been absorbed into Toph's tunic. "I never thought he would die," she muttered blankly to the girl beside her. "He's gone, Toph. He's gone forever."

And it was the first phrase she had said that made sense. Toph Bei Fong sighed inwardly and touched Katara's shoulder.

"He's still with you, you know," she replied pathetically, smiling a little. "I mean, I know this sounds weird and corny but…he's still in your heart, Katara. He's still with you."

Her companion sounded childish. It was for this reason that Katara enjoyed talking to Toph. She didn't have to look at her. She could look wherever she wanted. So when she answered, "You think so?" she was looking towards the children's rooms.

"Of course."

"How do you _know_?" Katara laughed bitterly and rather suddenly, glaring at her. "He's dead, for God's sake! He's gone." And there was an empty sadness in her voice—a desperate sound that felt hopeless and empty—but mostly, confused.

"I know," the earthbender replied tediously, hating the pungency of Katara's voice. "I can just sort of…tell." She paused and played with the hem of her clothing. It was strange to continue but she felt as though she needed to. "I've always known that the love you two shared was sacred. It was always really deep—and death isn't an exception to that."

Katara didn't answer. Toph heard her shuffle slowly and wipe her face.

"It's permanent," the younger woman continued defiantly. "Katara, it is just unbreakable."

There was no better term. No greater significance. When the children cried inside again, Katara stood up nimbly and strode quickly to them.

Toph called behind her unsurely, "Where are you going?"

"To my kids—can't you hear them?" Katara replied over her shoulder. "They just started crying."

It was as if some great worry had been cracked—right near the spout—and now the sadness and uncertainty was draining away. She had always liked her love the way Aang liked his cake: soft, supple. But the earthbender had taught her something new. Things did not always crack in large chunks and leave.

The most important things in life, after all—the things that even death cannot conquer—are simply, purely unbreakable. Ceramic teapots that are always full. Cake made of sugar and adoration. Lovers that die because they must, but don't leave the realm of those closest to them.

It was silly because even Aang had expected—before his death—that he would last forever.


End file.
